


Office Hours

by wimblydonner



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Desk Sex, F/F, Glasses, Office Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-14 14:46:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7176209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wimblydonner/pseuds/wimblydonner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quistis likes sex and she likes her office, but she's not so sure about combining the two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Office Hours

Quistis's lunch breaks are rarely actual breaks. She's usually shoveling salad into her mouth with one hand while grading with the other. Inefficiency was for chumps. One didn't get to be the youngest SeeD in the history of Garden by half-assing it, after all.

So, it's usually a welcome interruption when Xu stops by to distract her. There's really no conversation with her wife that she couldn't enjoy, whether it's catching up on the office gossip or continuing to micro-manage which color of couch they want to get for their new home. She's even up for hockey talk; while Quistis couldn't care less about who wins the sportsball trophymedal, she knows it makes _Xu_ happy, and that's enough for Quistis to want to track the scores and standings. 

But today, when Xu comes into her office, she's giving Quistis that look. It's not the gossip look, nor the couch-color look, or even the hockey look. It's _that_ look. 

Xu _knows_ that Quistis understands what she's thinking because she doesn't even say hello. She just locks the door behind her, plops herself right onto Quistis's desk—pushing a stack of papers and the printer cable out of the way—and gives her a saucy wink. 

" _Here_?" Quistis is already counting the reasons why this is a terrible idea. One, someone might hear them. Two, this is her office, and _she's_ going to have to be the one to clean up whatever mess they make. Three, they don't really have much time anyway to— 

Xu spreads her legs. 

It's a direct strike to Quistis's weakpoint. She can't pretend not to have a fondness for gorgeous women. Not that it's anything to embarrassed about. Quistis has always liked to think of herself as someone who appreciates the best in everything, whether it's the finest wine, the most pristine classical recordings, or the loveliest ladies. And—as Quistis always insisted when Rinoa came around with another political petition—it wasn't out of some hippy-dippy nonsense about the eternal sisterhood of women or something. She just liked titties. 

But, there's another thing Quistis is passionate about: Being the most accomplished, most professional, most reliable SeeD in Garden. She takes pride in her work, genuinely enjoys the knowledge she's acquired, and would never trivialize or make light of her responsibilities. Besides, she'd had to fight hard enough to get her job back the first time; she wouldn't dare jeopardize it a second time for the sake of momentary pleasure. 

To be sure, Quistis has no reservations whatsoever about fucking Xu at home in their bedroom, or in the shower, or over the dining room table, or in the beachfront hotel in Dollet on their honeymoon, or _on the beach_ in Dollet after everyone else had turned in for the night, or even on the roof of Garden that one time. But at work? In her office? On her _desk_? Some things just weren't meant to mix. 

"This is my office," Quistis hisses. "It's where I _work_." 

Xu says nothing. She just takes one finger and circles it over her panties, tracing the outline of her pussy, reminding Quistis of what she's missing out on, because the only explanation she can think of for Quistis's behavior is that Quistis has somehow forgotten she's looking up her wife's skirt. 

"If we do it here," Quistis demands, "we're having Board Game Night tonight." 

"Fine." Xu wants to do this badly enough that she'd be willing to roll dice with any number of sides. 

Xu's bare leg is dangling beside the drawer, and Quistis begins kissing her way up it, starting right at the ankle where Xu's leg disappears into her boot then slowly, slowly upwards, still not anywhere close to her thigh. Her hips move excruciatingly slowly, in part because she doesn't want to cause too much of a ruckus, in part to torment Xu for having them do this _here_. 

Quistis's tongue trails along Xu's inner thigh, and Xu releases an involuntary whimper of need. Quistis abruptly stops. "Dear," she insists, "you've _got_ to keep it down." 

Xu nods. "I know, I'm sorry." It's going to be torturous being quiet. _Deliciously_ torturous. 

Quistis slides her wife's panties down her legs and off, and then she reaches to take off her own glasses so she can better position herself to go down on Xu. 

"No." Xu reaches down and presses Quistis's glasses back to the bridge of her nose. "Keep them on," she commands. 

She's never done _that_ before, but if there's one person Quistis believes in making happy, it's her darling Xu. She moves between Xu's thighs and under her skirt, glasses and makeup intact. Xu seems to like it—perhaps she enjoys the thought of being so desirable that she's seduced the prim Instructor directly away from her post—because she immediately trawls her hand through Quistis's hair and, with one hand on Quistis's hair comb, pulls her wife closer and deeper. The rim of Quistis's silver glasses presses into Xu's thigh a little, but Xu likes the pressure, likes the little spike of pain, and locks her legs around Quistis's back. 

Quistis's tongue circles Xu's folds as Xu bites her bottom lip and tries not to make a sound. It's too fucking _good_. Quistis is an expert at going in just hard enough to satisfy, but then backing off to keep things from building too quickly. 

Xu murmurs again, more quietly this time. It's delightful for Quistis, knowing that she can stir her wife at such a primal, physical level. Like a skilled puppeteer, she understands just how to elicit the response she wants: First, making Xu squirm here and there, then making her sigh deeply, and then making her hips shake, stirring her whole body into a symphony of pleasure. 

Xu's hands flail in search of balance, scrabbling across the desktop and bumping Quistis's coffee mug and sending papers scattering. "Hey," Quistis growls from beneath Xu's skirt, "that's my coffee." 

The only thing more important than eating pussy was drinking coffee. 

Xu carefully sets the treasured mug aside. Her hands clutch the edge of the desk, trying to contain herself, but it's not enough. Soon Quistis has Xu's whole body rocking and back forth on the desk. There's a creak and a gasp here and there, but both of them are too into it now to care about a minor noise here or there. Perhaps, their coworkers might think, Instructor Trepe was merely rearranging her furniture. 

Xu's cheeks are flushed, her breathing growing heavy, and her teeth gritted. Quistis knows Xu's getting close, and it's time now to slip one finger inside her, to touch the spot that drives her wild every time and send her wife over the edge. "You'd better be quiet about this," she hisses. 

Xu nods, and it looks like she's about to say something in return, but she doesn't and _can't_ , because now her chest is heaving, and her head is thrown back, and she's coming—heavily, _messily_. 

Shit, Quistis thinks. She has class to teach in less than an hour and now Xu has squirted on her glasses. 

Still, Quistis likes watching Xu come down from the high she'd driven her to—her chest gradually heaving less and less strongly, her breathing calming down. 

"Look what you did to my glasses," Quistis says. But she has to laugh. It's undeniable evidence that Xu loves her and is driven to mad lust by her. 

When Xu has her wits above her again, she stands. "You don't have class until 1:00, right?" she asks, wiggling two of her fingers. Quistis gets the implication. 

Quistis scoots her chair back and hikes up her skirt. "I guess if we're fast—" 

"On your desk," Xu commands, pointing. 

Whoa. No way. There's where she's done all of her best writing, where she formulates her meta-analysis of Mighty Guard and all of her PowerPoint slides on status effects. She'd never be able to look at it the same way again if she'd had an orgasm on top of it. "Somewhere else," she insists. 

Xu loosens her tie, unbuttons her blouse, and unhooks her bra, unveiling her breasts right in Quistis's face. " _On your desk_ ," she insists. 

Quistis swallows. "On my desk," she agrees. (Boobs are hard to argue with.) 

Quickly they move her laptop onto the chair, dump a bunch of the papers into the recycling bin, and throw the pens and pencils every which way. Everything is already a _mess_ , and having the evidence of their lust strewn about the room only eggs them further on, as if reminding them they're in the middle of some lascivious sexcapade. 

Quistis scrambles up on the desk, sitting with her back to the length of the table so that she can lie down on it. She couldn't believe that she was about to get fucked on her desk at work—in the middle of the day, with people around, when she was teaching Principles of Blue Magic later that day. She must be some kind of wild sex freak. (And thinking of herself that way makes her pussy throb.) 

Xu leans Quistis back so that she can kiss her. Their lips meet, as they have many times before, no less passionate than their first kiss many years ago but now with far more expertise in how their lips and tongues are meant to interlock. Then Quistis tilts her head back so that Xu can kiss all of her other favorite spots: her collarbone, her cheek, the side of her neck just under her chin. It's so sweet, so tender that Quistis can't help but whimper out a strained, "I love you." 

"I love you, too," Xu gives the obligatory reply, but there's work to be done. Her hands move underneath Quistis's tie, unbutton the top of her uniform, and gently lay it open. Quistis's bra is fancy and lacy even on a work day because Quistis believes in never being less than the best at everything, whether it's looking beautiful or memorizing Junctioning tables. She's Quistis freakin' Trepe, after all. 

The bra comes off, and then Quistis leans back and braces herself on the desk as Xu's lips attack her breasts. They've been with each other for so long there's no need to hold back; Xu feels no qualms in letting her hands dig roughly into Quistis's skin, grabbing and claiming. Quistis's necktie flaps about in the middle of it all in a lewd juxtaposition of official SeeD attire and hickey-laden skin. The combination of Quistis's workaholic side and her romantic side presents to Xu, at last, a picture that's 100% Quistis. 

Xu starts to trail her lips down Quistis's body, moving from her breasts down to her navel and perfectly toned stomach, the product of Quistis's daily workouts and battles in the training center. 

But Quistis, with a whimper of protest, grabs at her wife's hair and tries to slow her. She'd be happy with drawing it out, with keeping it slow and intimate. Quistis, indeed, has a soft spot for gentle, schmoopy sex; while there are plenty of things in the world she's grumpy and impatient about, her wife is one she genuinely loves and cherishes. 

"Hon, _your class_ ," Xu insists, aware of the impending deadline. 

Quistis relents, and Xu hikes up Quistis's skirt to go to work. Quistis can't really see what Xu is doing because her glasses are still messy and fogged-up. She just _feels_ : Xu's wrists spreading open her tight pencil skirt, Xu's fingers hooking into the waistband of her thong and yanking it down, her own thighs rubbing together in needy anticipation. 

Xu is darn good at eating her out. Unlike Quistis, she's not trying to tease or prove her smarts. She gives unselfishly of herself, lapping eagerly at every last inch of Quistis's folds, running her hands up and down the thighs she adores so much, and at last sucking delicately at Quistis's clit. 

Quistis is already plenty worked up, and Xu is going in _fast_ because they don't have much time, so it doesn't take long to push Quistis to the edge. She just needs to overcome her resistance to the idea of letting go in her office, of giving up control of her body right here where she's supposed to be at her most focused and driven. But Xu is amazing, and feeling her own ass pressed into the glossy SeeD logo on her desk is astonishingly naughty. Her breath catches in her throat, her muscles tense, her back arches lewdly—and then even steely Instructor Trepe is over the edge, and she's wantonly climaxing right on the same desk where she wrote her review paper on Matra Magic. 

And then immediately after, they're rearranging furniture, buttoning clothes, searching for their underwear, desperately trying to clean up the mess they've made all over what used to be such a tidy, proper office. Quistis grabs her laptop and figures she has just enough time before class to run to the bathroom so that she can wipe off her glasses and to try to fix her sex hair. 

"See you tonight, hon," Xu says, still trying to find her tie, as Quistis leaves. 

"Of course. It's going to be Board Game Night."


End file.
